


Catspaw

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hostage Situation, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-02
Updated: 2008-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no place like the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catspaw

**Author's Note:**

> A vignette from an odd Alternate Universe. I know nothing of it beyond what's presented here. 529 words.

_**_House_ fic Vignette: Catspaw**_  
 **STATUS:** Unpublished. Original draft dated 7/2/08.  
 **TITLE:** Catspaw  
 **AUTHOR:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/)  
 **CHARACTERS:** Wilson, James Moriarty.  
 **RATING:** PG-13.  
 **WARNINGS:** None.  
 **SPOILERS:** None.  
 **SUMMARY:** There's no place like the middle.  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will. Also do not own the character of Moriarty, or any other inhabitants of the world created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** A vignette from an odd Alternate Universe. I know nothing of it beyond what's presented here. 529 words.  
 **BETA:** Many thanks to [](http://pwcorgigirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**pwcorgigirl**](http://pwcorgigirl.livejournal.com/) for the most excellent drive-by.

  
 **Catspaw**

  
"My lord, I am an innocent party to this ... _grudge_ you bear against Lord House." Wilson commanded his voice to remain calm, and willed himself to ignore the cold brass of the barrel pressed against the back of his neck.

"And that is exactly the point." Lord Moriarty folded his napkin with genteel precision after first dabbing it to his lips. "If I am forced to kill you I will not regret it. If I _cared_ whether you lived or died it would weigh upon my mind intolerably." He paused for an eternal moment, then dropped the napkin on the table and chuckled softly as he rubbed the palms of his hands together.

"My dear Dr. Wilson," he said, "if only you could see your expression!" Moriarty shook his head and leaned back in his chair, the very picture of immeasurable wealth and languid grace. "Rest assured, I do not intend to harm you in the least. My only concern is to draw Lord House into a dialogue -- a parley, if you will." His dark eyes bore into Wilson's own. "For too long we have been at war, he and I, and every flag of truce, every olive branch I have extended, has been refused, or worse, thrust back in my face." He motioned for a cigarette, and a servant instantly appeared, bowing low as he lifted the gilded lid of a long silver case. Moriarty selected one of the tapers within -- the lid of the case snapped shut, and the servant held out a glittering, bejeweled lighter. The tiny flame flared to life, Lord Moriarty puffed, and the tip of the cigarette glowed a fierce scarlet. He held the thin torch between two fingers, and looked back at Wilson.

"I have come to believe," he said, "that the only way to gain House's attention is to take something that belongs to him. Oh, no, no -- " Anticipating Wilson's objections, he waved them aside. "I do not mean in the _literal_ sense, of course." Moriarty took another puff from the cigarette, inhaling deeply even as Wilson struggled to maintain his composure.

More servants appeared; dressed in the black-and-silver livery of Moriarty's heraldic crest, they began to remove the dishes and cutlery of the sumptuous dinner. The pistol muzzle at Wilson's head never wavered, and he wondered for a moment who was holding it. The groom who had taken his horse? The tall butler who had greeted him at the door, then led him into this trap?

"You are his friend, Doctor."

Moriarty was speaking again, and Wilson jerked his attention back to his kidnapper. The dutiful servants had snuffed most of the candles in the dining room; the resulting shadows lent Moriarty's face a distinctly saturnine aspect. "Perhaps his _only_ friend. What better incentive to bring him to the caucus table than with you -- shall we say -- as the bait?"

"My lord," Wilson ground out. "This is not the act of a gentleman."

Moriarty's left eyebrow quirked upwards, and his expression seemed to speak of a deep sadness.

"My dear Dr. Wilson," he murmured. "I have never claimed to be anything of the sort."

  



End file.
